


Language and the Source of Misunderstandings

by KuudereKween



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Related, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fuckboy Ackerman, Hurt No Comfort, Levi Ackerman is Bad at Feelings, Levi Ackerman is a Tease, No Happy Ending Fest, No Sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:55:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29935827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuudereKween/pseuds/KuudereKween
Summary: They’re drinking salt water.Do these inlanders know they’re not supposed to do this?They must have never seen the ocean, the poor fools.
Relationships: Levi Ackerman & Reader, Levi Ackerman/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	Language and the Source of Misunderstandings

**Author's Note:**

> I’m quickly learning I’m no good at writing happy endings. As much as Levi deserves one. I tried to keep this one canon in terms of the timeline in the anime. There are no spoilers as long as you’re caught up with season four.
> 
> This does deviate from canon, though, as I’m creating a whole group of people that do not exist. But I thought it was an interesting concept as Levi seems to react fondly to innocence. The reader does have a couple of physical attributes specific to the look I imagined the tribe to have.

_"Tu deviens responsable pour toujours de ce que tu as apprivoisé."_

You crouch low in the overgrown thicket, verdant and lush. Eyeing your furry, unsuspecting prey, your breaths another wisp in the wind. A buck way past his prime, you’ve surmised by the shade of his coat, still sturdy but no longer able to procreate. The perfect death to maintain the balance of life. Tree branches sway silently in the breeze, the sunlight peeking through the leaves to cast an effervescent glow to an otherwise deadly atmosphere that, as of now, only you are highly attuned to. 

Not a Tall One in sight. 

You’ve come far from home. Your tribe, a small clan with a ferocity for survival, lives nestled along the shoreline of the island, under steep cliffs. Not much disturbs you there, at the bay that embraces the water. Even the Tall Ones don’t dare stray too close, for those who did would plunge straight to the bottom of the sea. 

Legends say your ancestors traversed from the main land far along the west to the island long ago. Although, the people found that the fortuitous island was infested with Tall Ones that devoured only humans. And so, to prosper, they established a fortress along the cliffs. And there they stayed for a hundred years. 

But your journey brought you here, beneath the shade of trees where wildlife thrives. While fish and ocean dwellers were the tribes main food source, the occasional hunt not only kept you on your toes, but provided the community with a different sort of fuel. The trek inland was scarce, seldom done a few times a season, but the furs, leathers and bones for tools were a commodity that required your village to venture into the Tall One’s lair. 

You sit static, a stone among the life around you, only your charcoal hair swaying along with the blades of grass. Your osseous spear lies in wait under your twitching hand. 

Not yet...not yet...not yet...

The buck, who had just lowered his head to graze, shot up, inky eyes staring hard and frozen into the distance behind you. 

And that is when you felt the rumble. 

The buck immediately darts away, and you curse under your breath. You had hoped to be more fruitful in your hunt today. Had already imagined your mother’s kind smile with a mixture of appreciation and pride.

The rumble grows louder now, only these were not the familiar thud, thud, thud made by the slow trudging of Tall Ones nearby. No, this noise sounded much more alert; possibly a small heard of wild horses or pigs. 

Hope rekindled, you sprint to the nearest tree, climbing nimbly and blending into the branches seamlessly, Aiming your spear toward the oncoming horde of beasts. 

Yet you falter as the horses come into view, bringing with them a group of people you had never seen before. 

Their skin is pale, much paler than the sun-kissed color of those in your tribe. They wear strange clothing, nothing like the furs and leathers that leaves much of your skin exposed. 

But before you can appraise them further, their horses ride out of the thicket, leaving you to balk at them with newfound curiosity. You follow quickly behind, keeping a safe distance away so as not to alert the group to your presence. 

They speed headfirst into the sands, away from your home and toward the smooth rock barrier where you often see large vessels come in and out from the depths beyond.  
You’re caught in a mental feud. Should you venture forward and follow the strangers? Determine whether they are friend or foe?

Or immediately return home to inform the tribe of whom, or what, you’ve encountered?

As the group shrinks deeper into the desert, you hop onto your horse and follow them toward the sea.

_______

Ah...

They’re drinking salt water.

Do these inlanders know they’re not supposed to do this?

They must have never seen the ocean, the poor fools.

But you cannot stifle the grin that creeps onto your face as they splash one another with what seems like childlike glee and poke at the shellfish in awe. 

You hear the boisterous exclaims from one with auburn hair wearing something you had never seen before over their eyes.

A language unlike that of your tribe. You inch forward, straining your ears for some possible clarity, as if the proximity would somehow make you understand the angled sounds coming from their mouth’s. 

A man stands closest to you, the only one of the bunch not completely enraptured by the sight of the sea. 

The one with the object on their face turns to say something to him. 

And then your eyes meet. 

Oh sweet Mother above, they saw you. In a frenzy, you retreat beneath the rocks. Your heartbeat racing in your ears almost deafeningly. Your thoughts become a flurry as you hasten toward your horse a few yards away. 

You can make it. You will make it.

You feel the tug of your arm pull you back.

You didn’t make it. 

The man is there, with a scowl that only heightens your trepidation, his grip almost as harrowing as the fear that has knotted in your throat. He opens his mouth, his low words unclear but menacing all the same. A young man with hair the color of sand runs up behind him, gawking at you in much a similar expression he gave to a mollusk earlier. His voice is lighter and chimes, a question perhaps, but you cannot know the meaning behind his comment. 

“I don’t speak your tongue,” you respond in your language, in hopes that by some small miracle, they have enough intelligence to understand the disconnect. 

The group has crowded you now, their eyes showing hints of curiosity and weariness. They continue to speak around you, picking you apart and sizing you up in the same way you had done to them earlier. The man’s hand still clamped around your arm. 

In an attempt to show some semblance of peace, you unhook your shell choker with one hand and shove it to the shorter man’s chest, your eyes pleading to take the offering and release you. He looks down at your hand, and you press it to him once more. His eyes flicker to yours, narrowing but pensive. 

His hold slackens as his words come out a smooth rumble. He takes your choker gingerly, and says something to the person behind him. They must have no sense of personal boundaries because their face stops mere inches from yours as they speak fast and loud. 

You take the opportunity closer inspect the object sitting atop their nose. You pull it from their face, noting the magnification coming from the clear, hard stone. Placing them to your eyes, the world suddenly blurs. Why would anyone willingly choose to handicap their vision? How incredibly fascinating these inlanders are. 

_____

“Horu....Ho-orch...”

The sounds rolled clumsily off your tongue.

“Horse,” Levi instructs once more. You stare at his mouth studiously, mimicking the way the air rushes between his teeth and gently caresses your face. 

“Horse,” you attempt. He nods in response and you smile back. Levi’s patience never runs thin with you. Which is odd since he’s usually glowering at what seems to be the entire planet’s population. 

It’s been a few months since he started visiting the village, started teaching you how to speak their language. He had also brought different foods and items with him, making the best first impression when you introduced the inlander to the tribe. 

So your eyes light up as he holds up a new treat, this one hard and round. You take it from him and inspect it, placing the item into your mouth but comes up flavorless. He shakes his head, withdrawing the item from your mouth that creates a soft pop, and wiping it clean on his uniform before attaching it to your fur. 

“Brooch,” he pronounces.

“Brooch,” you repeat hastily as you look down at the grayish blue jewel you mistook for a candy. You look back at him and touch his temple tenderly. It didn’t take you long to notice the accessory matches his eyes. You wonder if he’d notice too. “Brooch.”

_____

“I like syrup. I eat more.”

You shovel another piece of pancake into your mouth, humming merrily.

Levi scoffs after he takes a sip of his tea. “Slow down, you’re going to choke.”

You blink at him. Then you drop your fork and grab at his teacup. He often drinks from this cup and you’re sure it must be tasty. As you hold the cup to your nose to sniff the herbal concoction, you take a peak at him. 

Is he smiling? 

He never smiles, this can’t be right. 

It’s a phantom, barely even there, and missed easily by anyone else.

But not to you.

You place the cup to your lips and sip.

“No, no good,” you review with a cringe. “Want syrup.”

You add syrup to the drink and taste it once more. Much better.

Only Levi doesn’t seem to think so as he watches on with disgust. He refuses to drink any more.

_____

“What is ‘kiss’?” 

Levi freezes as he unloads the last crate full of supplies from the wagon. “Where did you learn that?”

You pout and reflect. “Sasha. She asks if I ‘kiss’?”

He shakes his head, as if to dismiss the topic. But he’s never kept anything from you thus far, and you’re too stubborn not to pry.

“I want to know.”

After ten minutes of bickering, he huffs. He grabs your arm and pulls you into him, his lips tenderly meeting yours.

Your tribe does not do this. Although, as Levi’s hands grow clammy and his cheeks slightly flush, you can assume that this is an act not easily done for him. 

Your eyes close, as his are, and your lips press into his. You can appreciate the intimacy. 

You think you may like kissing. 

_____

In an experiment, you had kissed different people in your village; men and women alike. None were able to make the same bodily reaction that Levi was able to cause in you. 

Only, he was not so happy to find out that you began testing your apparent affection on others. Especially when you walk up to a random male during your excursion to the walls and kiss him without hesitation. Levi drags you back to his quarters and shoves you inside, slamming the door behind him. He leans you against the table and bumps his forehead against yours. His eyebrow is twitching.

“You don’t do that,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice stable. “You don’t do that to anyone unless they are very important to you. You save that for someone you want to be with.”

He sighs and sits on the chair, avoiding your eyes. You reflect without a word, each silent second that passes only fueling the choking tension. Your throat feels tight and you’re afraid you’ve disappointed him. 

“Only for person I want...” you state, and kiss him with a certainty that you hope he can feel. 

The heat builds in your core as he deepens the kiss, nudging you forward until you sit on his lap, your legs straddling him on the chair.

Why is it so hot? Do you have a fever? You’ve never felt this achy before.

He begins to unfasten the shirt you had worn to your first time in the walls. 

You begin to tremble and begrudgingly break away for a moment as you fill your lungs with air. Only he makes you forget to breathe. 

“I want you.”

______

It’s been months. 

It’s been months since his last visit.

Sometimes you stare hard at the entrance of the village in hopes that he’ll come, with or without supplies. You mindlessly play with the brooch pinned to the center of your leather top. 

“You must remember he is a warrior. Battles will take him away,” your mother tells you.

Little does she know that is exactly what you’re afraid of. 

Mother above, do not take him away.

______

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? You’re in no position to refuse.”

“No.”

“I’ve taught you the language. Use your words, damn it.”

“And I’ve taught you mine. The answer is still the same: no.”

You try desperately to hold your tears back, your eyes stinging with each one you keep in.

How dare he tell you he can no longer see you? How dare he try to erase the four years of memories he’d imprinted in your mind. 

“You have tamed me,” you say finally, choosing words to best convey the pain he caused with his declaration to abandon you. “You become responsible, forever, for what you tamed.”

His brows furrow but you cannot know whether it’s from anger or sorrow.

“The life I’ve chosen to lead does not promise tomorrow. I’ve been lucky so far. But this shitty war is coming to an end. And I will help bring it to a close.”

The tears escape, a hot and endless stream down your cheeks. 

“Please, don’t go,” you beg. 

You grasp at the strings that had, up until now, fastened the bond between the two of you. 

It was once strong, a chain link made of the strongest metal. Now it was a frayed rope, withered and aged.

And you’re quickly finding his rope is no longer within your reach.

He opens his mouth to say something. But he knows nothing he can say will make up for the pain you will both feel when he is gone.

So your heart breaks with each foot step he takes that leads him farther away from you, and shatters when you can no longer hear the horse’s gallop.


End file.
